This is for all of you out there who have shit going on, in your life, and can't deal. Can't vent. Can't defend yourself from.

There are times when you must be seen, heard, felt. And even the most apathetic or the most cynical of us do it. There are times when you must stick your head over the trench wall and see others toiling away, and take comfort from the fact that you are not alone.

So I am here. I am listening.

Some of us take up the pen, the sword, the megaphone, and turn negativity into a positive. Some of us create temporary monuments out of the shrapnel that rains on us.This is why: if we do not shit our hate, we will die.

Your tasks are your own, what you do, you must do alone, but what is done, will be seen.

The best will be remembered and emulated and refined, it is true, but the best will fade as fast as the worst.

There is nothing permanant. In the space of a life time, we build many monuments, and we tear many down.

There is respite, though. There is a moment of hiding in a shell crater as you run across no-mans-land, sharing a knowing glance with another refugee, leaving your mark, before you jump up again, and run to the next bit of scant cover.

There is that assurance that what we do will have meaning, for a fleeting time perhaps, but not an empty gesture.

Setting: A large airy room, all in marble and gold. There is an open area in the middle of the room, with large "steps" set around it in concentric circles. Set into niches in the walls are statues of George W. Bush, Bill Clinton, George H. W. Bush, every President since Nixon, every Prime Minister since Atlee.

There are a lot of aging men and woman, dressed in bed sheets sitting on the steps talking quietly amongst them selves, and one standing in the middle of the floor, preparing to speak...

"Distinguished friends! We are here to today to discuss diverse matters of interest to our interests as representatives of ourselves and eachother! Let us proceed firstly with the matter of our next Emperor."

He pauses and regally surveys the the seated councillors. He points to one.

"Copious Taser, you may speak first."

The indicated man stands up, smooths off his bed sheet and proceeds to the floor.

"Friends! The Emperor (may he reign forever!) is due to step back from the throne in a few short months. The People, hardly oppressed by his benevolent policies, have decided that this is a good time to consider our politics, and hold them under SCRUTINY! I have spoken with some of you about this, and have decided that we needs must divert their attention to other matters of smaller import, such as the prospective candidates genitalia, or mayhaps the colour of their skin!"

The seated men and women nod sagely, some mutter supportive sounding words. There is a small grunt as one of them in the back row is introduced to anothers knife. He slumps over, but no one thinks it out of the ordinary, as several others are similarly slumped over in slumber.

"Some others are making scenes in public, and ignoring our pleas for them to focus on what we tell them to. Our loyal citizens are having their freedoms protected by our actions to keep these rebellious scalliwags in order."

He pauses for a moment, seemingly trying to regain some of his composure which has obviously been upset by the mere thought of having to deal with public unrest, here! In the Land of the Free!

"We are now arranging to have the two most likely candidates to assume the Imperial Mantle to be as popular as the other in the plebians eyes, the better to distract them from our essential work. My friends, we are close to getting past this period of unrest, and getting back to more years of stability and freedom to do as we wish."

There is polite applause as he bows to the assembled elders and makes his way back to his seat. The Speaker steps back to the floor and draws breath to speak again. He pauses when Copious Taser sits back down on a tack and yelps. A few of the men and women near him giggle behind their hands.

"I thank my friend Copious Taser for his words. It is true that these are unsettling times, but we are almost through them. We must remain united and strong within these walls, fractious though we may be out-with. I call my friend Pluribus Unum to the floor, he has requested a chance to speak before you today."

Pluribus Unum stands up, steps over several sleeping and "sleeping" elders, wipes his sandals of blood on one of their bed sheets, and makes his way towards the centre of the floor.

"Fellow councillors! I bring to you happy news today! I, with some diverse help from some among you, have been working on our "doublethink" policy. Yes, we were worried to begin with that this frankly Orwellian idea would be too obvious to the people, too likely to forment unrest rather than quell it, but we were wrong! The people have been weaned on television since birth now and have no idea who old George was, let alone read his books. We now have implanted the idea that only protests held in cages are valid with our "Freedom Cage", and have now so closely aligned "Freedom" with "Security". Through logical progression, we can now enforce "Security" with "Cage", and then we will have them, if you excuse me, by the balls."

Again there is quiet acknowledgement of this small feat. And a small strangled yelp as The Speaker is 'removed' in the traditional and time honoured way.

"When next we meet, there will be a new Emperor. I expect we will back our assigned candidates, and have a nice and close "election". Remember to tell your candidate to keep his trap shut! One small slip now will blow everything to hell, and we don't want that, do we? I thank you, my friends, for your time."

He moves back to his seat, and The Speaker, a woman now walks back to the floor.

"Lastly, we shall hear from our "underground" man, our representative amongst the people. He hasn't much time to speak to us today, or his lack of presence will be noted. Let us listen!"

A previously unseen man steps out from behind a pillar, he is wearing a bedsheet like the others, but it is also pulled up over his head, hiding his features.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, hear me! My work amongst the people goes according to our plan. I have guided the most rebellious of them in directions that we believe are fruitless. Amongst some, I have encouraged parroting of old catch phrases and jokes and the taking of illicit substances. Amongst others, acts of petty vandalism and the creation of what they term "meme-bombs". As we..."

There was a small murmer of dissent and unease, but also some of support for the mystery man.

"As we already suspected, many of the latter ARE dangerous. It is well that we caught them when we did. We are feeding them all with small portions of the truth, to keep their need to know sated, but as planned they do not know the whole of it, as much as they want to. My latest report, regarding the adaptation of the "three man con" has been dispatched to this esteemed council. What you will read concerns the removal of the third participant from our Three Man Con policy, the third participant of course being the person being conned. My work continues, and my updates will also. Thank for your time, friends"

He turned, somewhat melodramatically, and stalked towards the door.

As he neared it, some of those closest to him may have heard him whisper to himself.

We are the Anti Colony. We are those who have not met ourselves. We are all the coolest things you've never heard of.

Understanding that we are everything, and nothing, it is inevitable, perhaps, that we play with fire to build our self congratulatory monuments.

We are the winners. We are the faceless avatars of our age.We are worthy of no pity or thanks, but only because (and when) WE say so.

Glory in the fight, fellow ghosts of the internets, because it IS a fight, even scrawling your name in the mud with a stick is a victory.

We are the nameless celebrity. We are wielders of the cyanide pen.We shit all over your roses, becuase it helps US grow.

And now?

Now we wait for something to happen, or cause things to happen, or sit in imbecilic bliss.

We really ARE the dogs bollocks.

We have mad skillz. We hate you.We play meme-poker while the world unexpectedly DOESN'T implode under it's own stupidity.

Underneath every one of us is a chair, we made it our bitch, but it also made us our bitch. Meanwhile, we disbelieve in the Gods, the Government and the mail-man. Sometimes we don't even believe in ourselves anymore, so far has our search for troof and lulz gone.

Questions? No longer do we ask them, meaningless as the answers, nay, the words, have become. We merely make statements proceeded by the polite"?"

FUCK you? Hell Yeah!

O.K. lets roll the dice, see who plays first, and write some pithy poetry. We have so much anger going to waste, lets document it, pigeon hole it, lay it down for posterity. These are the days we truly are alive, and we should really leave something for the poor, dead, kids of tomorrow. Maybe not.

And when all is really said and done, all i really wanted to say is "Fuck me, I want a beer!!" So how the fuck did I get here?

~Take out that damned jackboot from your ass. It's not cool, it's not funny and it's like a genetic disease in that you'll end up passing it onto generations of your descendents.

~Learn to question EVERYthing. Occasionally, people tell you lies. Even people who sound perfectly reasonable and sane. The softer they speak, the more polite they are, the bigger the lie they can be hiding from you.

~Stop waving the flag/passport/skin colour and calling it "Patriotism". That shit just isn't funny anymore when the Government is already doing the same thing. Patriotism isn't about being a better citizen, it's about demanding a better country.

~Take a crash course in bullshitting. It's the "in" thing these days. You might as well learn to be better at it than your Priest, Bank Manager and President.

~Take time off and have a little fun. It's what they don't want you to do, right? When people say "Oh, telling someone not do something is like inviting them to go ahead and do it", they could well have a point when it comes to this. Do you REALLY want to be stuck in that cube all day when the sun is out?

~Swim with dolphins. Nothing like having a wet slimy horny motherfucker wrapping it's prehensile penis round your leg to realise that these lists are all bullshit, and you really need to make up your own damn lists.

Your possessions no longer interest me, neither does your fragile mental state. Your intellect has become stale and useless, wallpaper in the cage you call your life, a mere link in the chains you are to make yourself. Forced to do so by yourself.

Your friends/family/pets/rulers/employers are meaningless constructs until you accept the grim reality of this situation. Perhaps they are meaningless until they accept the reality of their very own imprisionment.

Now break down whats left. Do you really need your takeaway pizza every weekend? Would you really be a lesser person if you had a one bedroom housing cube in the shadowy part of the big city?

Discard as appropriate.

Now you have pressed the reset button. Feel free to add to your list again, but this time its not what you need to survive, its what you need to live.

Add your favourite art, scenic views and witticisms. Most of all, I suggest the quiet dignity of a free human. But thats only me, you are now in total editorial control.

Done? Good.

Now look around you. Does anything seem different? Do you really like that McBurgerHut down the road, the one you've been hanging around, inside and out, since you were able enough to say "I want!!" and point? Does the preacherman seem more, or less, creepy? Something never sat quite right with his fantastical tales of eternal paradise, if only you were "good" in this life. A life which, to the best of MY knowledge, is the only one you are guaranteeed to have?

Do you have any questions you have to have the answers to, answers that you know only you can find?

Good. Join the club.

This is a chainmail letter, you must now invent a way to mail it to yourself five years ago...

P.S. Have more fun, I can tell you it wasn't a barrel of laughs the first time around.

As Clarke slowly climbed the creaking stairs he felt a familiar sensation pass behind his back. He spun around to see what it was that had brushed his spine and sent shivers of tension through his ribs, only to find a lack of any thing behind him. No apparition, no beast, no colour, no sound. Nothing. He prickled at the sudden rising excitement that manifested as fear in his easily affected mind and returned to climbing the stairs, finding it more difficult than it had been previously. Not through an inability, but through an unwillingness. He wanted to retreat back down the steps and out of the door, full steam ahead into the artificially lit street, but he could neither continue nor go back. Something shapeless gripped him to the spot and he found himself unable to move. ‘Is it simply a fear of the dark,’ he wondered? He felt compelled to press on, yet unable. And there he stood until the clock chimed half past the hour, the resonating bell somehow proving that there was no spirit barring his progress to bed and to dreams.

For as long as he could remember there had always been a clock in the kitchen. His first memories as a child revolved around it, and it was the clock he learned to tell the time by. His mother had thought it more practical to purchase the biggest clock she could find so that it would be visible from the other side of the room, even when her eyesight inevitably began to fail her. For as long as he could remember, the staccatto thud that accompanied the movement of the clocks innards had been a noise in the background, the rhythm of the thing keeping time just as much as the numbers did. There had been times when he’d wished that for one second the clock would cease it’s labours and give him some peace, there had been times when he’d gone as far as wrenching out the batteries from the flimsy compartment on the back just to buy himself five moments of silence. Each time he did he would almost instantly replace the batteries with fresh ones, presently unaware that he had originally intended to leave the clock dead. It was only more recently that he had come to realise how much he relied upon the clock, as a friend and as a keeper. When there was no-one there to talk to him, the clock would be reminding him of the time, and after his mother had left and there was no-one there to complain that he was wasting his time, the clock was there still, counting. It occurred to him that his mother would have been able to get through to him better than picking at his concentration ever could simply by counting. It wasn’t even the sound of the numbers that made the counting important, just the knowledge that there was one, and one previous, and one to follow on. These three taps, that endlessly repeated were enough to tell him that things were still progressing. That time had not slowed down, that things were as they always were. “Dependency is such an ugly word,” he thought to himself, and so he merely sated his self loathing with the knowledge that it was not only him that was addicted to the clock, everyone had a clock, and everyone needed to know that it was there beside them, tirelessly counting the moments, seconds, minutes and hours between now and then.

"My dreams? don't remember most of them, to be honest. Frantic bits and pieces, like anyone."

"..."

"There are a few themes. I dream about school a lot. Always panic for a test I never studied on, a class I never attended, journals I never prepared... My dad still has those too, he told me once."

"..."

"Yeah I get bad ones too. I lucid dream a bit, so I can direct them mostly. It's dreams with a sense of heavy hopelessness that I get stuck in though. So hopeless I can't even use my wake up trick. Weird, huh? I dream around my own dream countermeasures. Things like my mother turning into a monster to eat me and my siblings. 'Don't fight, don't resist, just lie down and die quietly. Survive, and all you will gain is a life dealing with having to have killed your own mother. Just give up, it will be over soon.'

"Oh sure, I get other flavor of hopeless. Like being in a crowd of quarantined people, when FEMA decides liquidating us is easier and cheaper than screening and treating. They line us up in an old cistern, and prepare to shoot us. Then their CO tosses out a bunch of syringes. Says anyone who doesn't want to get shot to death has 5 minutes to inject air.

No one rushes the mooks, I'm trapped petrified by the herd mentality, and a bunch of people scramble for the spikes and try to track a vein. Not easy, so a lot of broken needles and half-ass attempts. Failure, cowardly death, no last minute rush into their ranks even. Just frozen like a deer waiting for a car."

"..."

"I'm not brave. Nobody is. We can altruism and stupid, and sometimes it looks good. Or we're just doing our thing, and someone decides it's exemplary. There are no heroes. Given enough time and bad luck, anyone will prove themselves a craven fuckup. "

"... .."

"Well, yeah. Didn't mean to bring you down. That's just what I see. Though I do tell myself, every time I DON'T make the mistakes I'm horrified of making in my dreams, anytime anyone doesn't, it's a worthwhile thing."

Weird, thought I'd submitted this one. It's from some shit I was going through when reading Dimo's thread about love:

It's when this person makes some kind of impression on you that makes you think just momentarily you might want to let your guard down to get to know each other, to allow someone into that inner sanctum of your fucked up head, just a brief glimpse into one another to see if you can dive down and cease to function in the shocking waters of a new undertaking. In a flash of understanding there's something slight, a peek of grander things and you talk and you talk and you don't need to sleep or eat you have limitless energy to be around the other til dusk and dawn and again to see them and know them in all lights and shades of a profound but exhilerating exhaustion. You're flooded with sensory information, aha, like how her eyes look on a winter night against reflective snow or maybe it's his smell how it pulls you closer and traps the both of you together. Minutes lost as you go about your lives are painful but even suffering through another day or week is worth it for the knowledge of how you'll feel every moment of being together. You both understand how important this all is on some primal level and even your bullshit hang ups and damaged psyche are no match for moving forward with this person. And you're on, you're both on, haha, you're saying things you've never though about with no filter that are so perfect for that moment and you're both laughing; there's a sweetness in each little gesture and thought.

Your head finally wraps itself around the fact that you, you miserable fucking prick, aren't destined to die alone and some other human being is somehow capable of putting up with your imperfect ass. There are these things your other does, mispronouncing words or cooking without enough salt or sneezing like the god damned world is ending, where you have these, HAH, moments of melting in your chest cavity. Over time you both come to realize behind your fancy words and nice clothes and well groomed facade you're a foolish clueless dolt pretending to have a grasp on a life that's too big for you to understand. And for once it's o-fucking-kay because as you wander around learning constantly new ways this world is fucked, AHAHA, you have an equal to become horrified at the same time. Then one time you're stressed and there's too many questions or you aren't willing to budge and neither of you are backing down and it might get intense, might get ugly, might look pretty grim. Nothing is bright right now because the world is through their eyes and they're turned away from you, briefly and achingly. It's over soon but it comes and it goes and you move on and you learn precisely what not to do because the last thing you want is to upset, HAHAHA, each other not for fear but to not hurt each other. And sometimes you have sex and it's great and sometimes you fuck and it's animalistic and depraved and incredible and sometimes you make love and it's incomparable to the other times for the exquisite closeness you feel with just one other person.

AHA HAHAHA, you come to know each other like nobody has ever known either of you before in both the good and bad. You've seen the terrifying depths of the lows and the exuberant unparalleled highs in each other so many times it's commonplace and all you need is a kind word or the right activity to keep attacking life together because right now you aren't two people, you're together and any slight to that front brings combined wrath. HAHAHAHA. HAHA. Shit's disgusting sometimes, the horrorfunk you find in the shower or the unknowable splatters of things or the hidden hodge podge of memorabilia from a person long gone. Those little fights are a fucking joke now because these new ones are the armageddon. You wake up in sweat with a hoarse voice and splotchy eyes and see the slammed doors and shattered egos and maybe the dried come from making up and you're just fucking relieved that it worked out because you wouldn't know what to do otherwise. And at that moment you think you understand, or at least can see a speck of the grander scheme, of what love means. Because you're lucky, both of you, and neither at this point could possibly fathom life without the other. For as strong as you are and the willpower you trick yourself to having you know, ultimately, you are god damned nothing without this other person.

It's not done yet, it never is, not until you're dead and rotting or your ashes are scattered upwind of a city that the bastards may choke. You've got these problems now and they're bad, they're real bad, bad like problems can't be bad and you don't know anymore if they're yours or if they're the other's. Indistinguishable you blame each other and you're wonder if telling them you love them is habit or if you feel it every time, a lucky one in a sea of assholes who can't pull this love thing off. You're told you can't love until you care more about someone else than you do yourself and it fucking kills you because that person next to you who once dazzled isn't much to you any longer, you're together because it's slightly less awful than being alone. HAHAHA. HAH. AHA. But then you can't do it anymore, lying about love and seeing adoration but not being able to return it, it makes you feel like a monster, like maybe you're incapable of really being in love like you see so boundless in others. You've been through it all before, maybe, maybe a few times even, maybe you don't even know if you can pull the whole process off again because you're so fucking jaded. HAHAHA. So it's over again and it's not like last time because your ass is bigger or your forehead is higher and no asshole is sorry enough to put themselves through the big bag of fucking misery you've turned out to be. HA. HA. HA. HA. HA.

- So the New World Order does not actually exist?- Oh it exists, and how!Ask the slaves whose labour built the White House;Ask the slaves of today tied down to sweatshops and brothels to escape hunger;Ask most women, second class citizens, in a pervasive rape culture;Ask the non-human creatures who inhabit the planet:whales, bears, frogs, tuna, bees, slaughtered farm animals;Ask the natives of the Americas and Australia on whose landyou live today, on whose graves your factories, farms and neighbourhoods stand;ask any of them this, ask them if the New World Order is true;they'll tell you plainly: the New World Order… is you!

Do you want to know why? I don't care if you do or don't, I'm going to tell you.

I hate your religion because in your opinion "IT'S THE RIGHT ONE!" Prove it. Make me believe beyond a reasonable doubt that your religion is THE right one. Come prepared, and leave the phony faith BS at home. I don't want to hear how I have to Step Out Blindly On Faith. That's a crock. Show me. Have your god come and smite me, or at least have some scotch with me. Better yet, have your god turn water into scotch. Then I'll consider thinking it's the right religion.

Why is humankind so eager to label themselves? Is it an insecurity issue? Is it to "belong"? Some of us here are pagans. Would someone please describe what that term has been destroyed to mean. Some of us are Discordian. No true definition exists. Some are Christian. Do we dare entered that tangled mess? But the particular label isn't what's important. It;s the need for a label at all. Is it simply needed for basic mean communication? If this is true why do so many rally behind a label like it a badge of honor? Uncountable people have died because they have worn the wrong label at the wrong time and in the wrong place.

Back to religion as a whole. This concept has murdered more people that any other thing ever thought of. A CONCEPT. Get it? An unprovable concept that has inspired it's followers to kill, forfeit their own lives, cause acts that have scarred many others. And there is NO SUBSTANCE to it. Why is it not more deeply questioned? How many of you have heard "My <insert religious leader title> told me so, and he/she is my leader and would never lie to me so it has to be true?" Be honest on this one. Is this silly race, humankind, so dependent on being led they will simply accept whatever is told them? Must they blindly believe and follow any order they are given in the name of their religion?

How can one so easily offer up their ability of free thought and action to willfully be controlled by the whims and ideas of someone else? Can you not see the people you are following are human as well? They are not DIVINE, they have no special gift except the ability to plug your ears and blindfold you and get you to like it. You want to nail me to a cross, burn me at the stake, or whatever other unusually cruel and mindless idea you come up with? All I can tell you is bring help, because there's going to be one hell of a fight and I'm not dying alone. Don't expect some mealy meek pansy bullshit from me, I'm going to try to kill you.

So keep your worthless religion far away from me and we'll be fine. I prefer to use my own wits and mind to direct my life.